


I Hate Guns

by Yikkityyikes



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spiderman - Fandom, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, spideypool - Fandom
Genre: Ableism, Anxiety Attacks, Autism Spectrum, Autistic Peter, Chemistry, Cocaine, Don't worry I'll adjust the tags each chapter, Echolalia, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Meetings, Guns, Heroin, Like seriously a lot of mentioning of heroin, M/M, Mild Gore, Sensory Overload, Slow Build, Spideypool - Freeform, blood trail, drug ring
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-05-31 09:42:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15116768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yikkityyikes/pseuds/Yikkityyikes
Summary: Peter hates guns, but in this business, you gotta know what you're up against.





	1. Dual desert eagles and a Ruger LCP

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chinashopbull](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chinashopbull/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has a bad day and runs into a dangerous cosplayer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter has been changed and updated! (2-6-19)

After Peter opened his eyes, he quickly realized something was unusual, mainly because he actually felt like he rested last night. He stared at his ceiling, his sleep hazy mind content with just staying put. And then, looking at his clock, Peter realized why he actually felt refreshed-- his alarm was dead, and it hadn’t woke him up. Peter couldn’t stop the bone weary groan that tore out of his chest. He knew no matter how fast he managed to get out the door he couldn’t make up for the lost hours of time. Peter soon realized none of his lights were turning on, so he opted out of brushing his teeth in the dark. Peter could almost hear May’s disapproval in the back of his mind, and it hurt to think about her. So he rushed out of his apartment, hoping to god that Jameson was in a good mood… Like that was realistic.

Peter was good at moving fast. In fact, ever since his life changing spider-bite, he was good at a lot of things. But being strong and flexible wasn’t necessarily good in everyday life. Especially when you had a secret identity to protect. Peter was once again reminded to hold back his powers when he reached the bottom of his apartment complex’s stairwell. He… hadn’t meant to jump down. His Spider-sense was silent, so it’s not like anyone saw him. He still couldn’t help but feel incredibly reckless. Goddammit Parker, get it together. It’s always harder to control his powers when he isn’t paying attention.

Peter painstakingly sat through the subway ride, fingers fiddling together and knee shaking the whole way. The train car was oblivious to his need to get off as soon as possible. Another passenger seemed to roll their eyes at his fidgeting, but Peter couldn’t care less. He was currently preoccupied with a whirlpool of anxiety.

Once out of the train car, he hurried his way down the street. He twisted and turned through the crowd on the sidewalk, trying to minimize contact with other people. The elevator was cramped, and he flicked his finger nails to an imaginary beat. It seemed to purposely slow its ascent just to spite Peter.

Ducking through the parted doors into the familiar smell of coffee, he was surrounded by another form of bustle. Instead of New York sidewalks and street vendors, this time it was an office filled with cubicles and people working in them. Various co workers passed by without sparing him a glance, folders and articles in hand.

Peter stepped sideways to avoid colliding with said papers and people. He made his way to his very own cubicle situated in the corner of the larger office. Although he never spent much time in here, he was glad Jameson gave him this spot when he was promoted so long ago. It was perfect for him. Nice and out of the way of normal foot traffic, it also seemed slightly quieter in his little corner.

It was barren to say the least. Unlike the many other cubicles, Peter had not taken the time to decorate his, despite the years of working here. The gray plastic walls were missing the usual personal touches like pictures or art. Besides an added sticky-note pad, Peter hadn’t put a single thing into his workspace. Everything that he needed for his work was carried along with him in his backpack.

Running a vigilante lifestyle didn’t leave room for sitting in the office. Most days he wouldn’t even need to be there. Most of Peter’s coworkers have picked up on his antisocial behavior, and would assign him articles and photos that could be done at home. That also allowed him to stick to his strict regimen of patrol and investigation. But Jonah J. Jameson was a man that didn’t care for Peter’s time or schedule. 

Peter needed to be in the office today just because Jonah demanded it. Who, even without Peter fucking up, yelled at him as if everything he did was wrong. He already felt like his skin was itching all over from his spider-sense being in overdrive. He could tell that he would not be having a good day. All of the broken routine induced stress added to the fear of seeing his boss, Peter’s nerves were ready to kill him. Saying he was on edge was an understatement. Every brush of wind or stapler slam seemed to make his hair stand on end. Another downside to his powers was the sheer amount of sensory overload. Even before the onslaught of spider abilities, he had a rough time with noises.

Hunching his shoulders even further over his ears, and head sinking into his arms, he drew in a steadying breathe and began to prepare himself. He had to get it over with eventually. He should just stand up, walk to the glass door on the other side of the office, and start to explain what had happened. He already knows Jameson is going to yell no matter what, but-- explaining would help. Maybe. Probably not. Both legs were steadily bouncing now.

After a few more self indulgent moments, he dragged his spidey pictures out of his backpack.  
Peter makes his way across the office carpet. He notices the different flecks of color in it, and how it looks next to his shoes. His anxiety is going to kill him one of these days. He knows not everyone is looking at him. Logically, he knows this. But he can’t help but feel--

The door to Jamesons office is already open. Huh.

“Peter!” Jamesons yell nearly sent Peter to the ceiling. “Come here!” Usually Peter wasn’t good at telling what someone's tone meant. The volume and furrowed brows Jameson now wore should say ‘angry’, but Jameson literally looks and sounds like that all the time. Peter went to stand in front of Jamesons desk.

“I apologize for missing our meeting this morning--”

“Shut up Parker!” Peter’s mouth clicked shut. His hands tugged at the sides of his jeans while he found interest in his shoe laces. He doesn’t remember tying them.   
“Do you have any idea how lucky you are to still work here? You’re this close to being fired, in fact I should’ve kicked you to the curb a long time ago! But here we are, you coming into my lunch break trying to kiss up and get your way again, acting like the world is falling apart, you’re damn lucky Parker!” Peter honestly never knows how to respond to Jameson when he’s like this.

“Yes sir” he mumbles to his shoes.

“And look at me when I’m talking to you!”

“Yes sir” Peter forced his eyes up to somewhere along Jamesons collar.

“Well? Don’t just stand there! Give me those pictures you promised!” Peter moved forward and set the pile of pictures to the side of what looks like Jameson’s lunch. Jameson gruffly hummed as he picked them up and began to sort through them.  
“Damn fucking lucky,” He muttered. Peter had a hard time understanding Jameson’s choice of words. He’s not sure what he’s apparently lucky about. Taking a moment to look at his face while Jameson was busy with the pictures, he saw his boss still wore a frown. The cursing, under normal circumstances with normal people, would indicate Jameson was upset. But he wasn’t yelling, and Jameson almost always yelled, especially when he was upset. Instead he seemed to be muttering to himself. The tug tug tugging of Peter’s jeans moved to the hem of his shirt, his toes now tapping to a dance inside his shoes. He was also staring at them again. He could feel a distressed hum wanting to bubble out of the back of his throat but Peter ignored it. Well, tried to ignore it. 

“Well? Get out of my office, I’m done with you.” Jameson slapped the photos onto the desk, apparently not caring if they get smudged with sandwich bits. He also grabbed at the greasy stack of food, shoving it into his mouth. The invasive noises of Jameson chewing was what finally had Peter turning his heel and quickly walking out the glass door. Peter could still hear the sounds as he made his way towards his cubicle, he wished they would be washed away by coworkers pouring coffee, or shuffling papers, or keyboards clacking and mouses clicking. But as Peter sunk into his desk chair, his spidey-hearing seemed to only care about the noises Jameson made. 

Peter cradled his head in his hands. Taking a moment to see if he could calm himself, pressing hands against his eyes, he decided it wasn’t worth it. Peter didn’t even need to be in the office. All of the work he did for the Bugle he was able to do at home. He should just get out of this stupid building. Peter quickly grabbed his bag and stood up again, making fast strides to the elevator. Well, relatively fast strides.

\----------------------------

 

Once Peter was back in his apartment he remembered why he was late in the first place. The lack of light made it look even more dreary than normal. He plopped onto his couch, hands going behind his head and humming finally freed from his chest. When his heartbeat slowed and breathing evened out he felt himself finally relaxing. It was the first moment in the day that seemed okay. 

He went to open the blinds over his couch and in his kitchen but everything still seemed grey. He just couldn’t win. Setting his backpack on his coffee table (his only table) he took out his camera and laptop to upload the most recent files before they both died. Sitting back on his tattered couch, he let his eyes rest.

Although Peter knew he should be stressing out about his bills, he was itching to put his suit on. He had more energy now than all of last week, all thanks to a long sleep gifted to him by his landlord.  
Peter had a strict schedule that required him to spend all of his days and evenings patrolling. Even with all that help, New York always gave Spiderman a reason to stay out late. 

Last night Peter had only meant to be Spiderman until midnight, but he stumbled upon a series of muggings (Fridays were busy). He then found a group of men beating someone into the cement around 2am, apparently for the sake of shaking down a customer who hadn’t paid. By 2:05 he had disarmed the perps without hurting any of them, but one of the guys was trying to bargain with spiderman. Explaining he would tell Spiderman everything he knew in exchange to go free and even hand over his drugs. Spiderman didn’t take bribes, but he did like information. Peter pocketed the heroin the man had-- it wasn’t much, but Peter didn’t need a lot.

The perp wasn’t happy about being dropped off at NYPD’s doorstep even after losing product and spilling a name. Peter may talk a lot while he’s Spiderman, but he never lies. He never told the perp he would go free.

Peter was brought back to the present when his tugging resulted in a loose thread in his T-shirt. He really didn’t want to think about his bills right now. Today has sucked from the moment he woke up.

Peter had forgotten about that bit of illegal opiate he confiscated. He went to dig through the pockets of his suit, retrieving it. He’d noticed a recent spike in overdose deaths in New York, and Peter remembered an article the Bugle had published, showing statistics that were shockingly high. The article tried to brush the deaths off, saying that most of the heroin cops managed to find was laced with fentanyl. 

 

Spiderman didn’t necessarily like or dislike the NYPD, their relationship was purely dependent on politics, but he definitely didn’t trust them. Their explanation for the amount of overdoses may make sense on surface level. On the other hand, Peter wouldn’t put it past them to be lazy and cut corners about the actual impurity profiling done with samples. Plus he was getting a low murmur on his Spidey-sense whenever the topic was brought up around him. Which was why Peter decided it would be good to run tests himself.

But since Spiderman had a name to follow, and therefore a lead deeper into a local drug ring, how could he just sit around and do nothing? His city came first, even before his electricity.

After slipping on the various parts of his suit, he pauses for a moment to see if the eyes were still working. It was his latest update for his suit, the eyes of his mask now reflect the movement of his eyelids. Often times he’ll find himself in a situation where his enhanced senses create a personal hell just for him. Having a way to block light, other than his own flimsy eyelids, is just what he needed. And the mask is doing more than just shutting when he closes his eyes, but they also adjust to the smaller movements, like when he winces. Another plus side is that the eyes add an effect to the suit it didn’t have before, something more human than spider. Now he just needs to figure out a way to muffle noises besides huge headphones sitting outside his spandex covered head.

His robotic eyelids were working great, which was a relief for Peter. He’s not sure he’s in the right mood to work mechanics on anything right now.  
Peter opened his window and let his Spider-sense tell him whether or not someone was watching. When all he felt was anticipation of a good swing he crawled out on his ledge. It was a steep drop to the alleyway below, dumpsters and vermin waiting below. But Peter pulled his body onto the wall fluidly, and scaled his building to the top. He noticed that all of a sudden it was easier to breathe. The gravel on his roof was satisfying to walk on too. After a breathe and pause, he ran and jumped, flipping himself from roof to roof. When the next building was too tall to land on, he jumped nonetheless and caught himself on the bricks, scaling the skyscraper with his fingertips and toes. This type of constant movement, of being able to actually stretch out and use his muscles is what he’s wanted all day. Every second he’s awake he wants to do this.

Once he was on top of a ‘scraper that seemed tall enough, Peter let himself actually run. The wind rushing past his body caught him when he ran out of building. Then Peter was diving down toward the street where Manhattan’s residents were busy with their mingling or bustling or whatever each person was doing. Peter was so glad he could literally be above it all. Peter’s head and body hurled downward, like the sidewalk would want nothing more than to crush his skull on impact. The air resistance was deafening.

But, if he had time or interest, Peter could tune into the sounds each person was making, individually checking if each was okay. Sometimes Peter does do that, if he’s really bored and his spidey-senses aren’t picking anything up. But for now he’ll feel his way through the city. As he flings a web strand to a far off building, his arm and body is jerked, and he propels himself into a forward motion. He knows that a normal person’s arm would rip off at the force the webs jerk him at. 

Peter finds himself following a sensation that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. At this point, it’s just instinctual to follow his spidey-sense. Peter lets loose yet another strand of web and arches his body into the pull of it.  
Although Peter did have the name of a high profile drug dealer to look into, he chose to save it for later tonight. Possibly when his spidey-sense chose to be quiet. (If it ever did)

The hairs on his neck felt like someone had physically brushed against them, and Peter knew he had found where the sense was leading him.  
He tucked and rolled himself into a crouch, quietly landing on the building closest to him. He turned and crawled to the edge, where his senses had peaked when he passed over the area. Below him was a… confusing scene. It looked like someone had ripped off his Spiderman costume, and chose to galavant around with an entire arsenal of weaponry. No wonder his sense had screamed at him. But Peter didn’t currently see any violence, just maybe a huge benefactor to future violence.

Peter paused. He hadn’t originally seen the man crouched on the pavement. He was distracted by the bright red suit and panda mask. No, he’s not crouched. Sprawled? It’s as if he had been thrown into the garbage littering the alleyway.

Oh. The dangerous cosplayer now pulled out a gun-- a desert eagle with picatinny-style rails to be exact.

“I-I think I can clear this up just,” The sprawled man’s voice cracked “if you could kindly remove the gun from my head, i-it’s freaking me out a little.”

“It should, baby’s got a hair trigger, now spill it.”

“C’mon Deadpool, I told you I don’t know any more about his operations!” His hands were above his head.

“We both know that’s a big load of bullshit, maybe you’d talk if we helped you remove those fingernails?” After hearing that Peter didn’t think of a plan. But what’s new?

“Whoa whoa whoa big guy” He rolled into another crouch on the pavement as he webbed the gun out of the man's hand, and into his own. He twisted the barrel into a circle.

“Guns are baaad.” Peter wasn’t sure where he was going with this. But guns really did make him upset, and he was already having a bad day. He webbed the angry cosplayers feet to the ground. When peter’s body moved to avoid the bullets whizzing past him he realized the man had pulled another gun, but Spiderman was dodging before he even heard the shots ring. Peter quickly made work of the second desert eagle like the first, this time webbing the man's hands to his sides when he reached behind himself for what peter thought must be another gun. Peter also realized the man was talking, babbling, but Peter couldn’t take the time to hear him because the sprawled man on the ground brought out his own gun. Which happened to be another handheld, but instead of an eagle it was a Ruger LCP. Peter hated guns, but he ended up seeing them a lot, to the point that recognition was mildly important. 

The man aimed at the cosplayer.  
“I said guns are bad!” He screeched and webbed the man's hands around his gun, and yanked him up over his own feet and close to Peter, where he ripped the gun out of his own webbing and tossed it. The man’s hands were still bound. “How many times do I have to say it? Now tell me what all of this is about Mr. Cosplay.” The man in the mask gasped.

“I am actually really offended right now,” he said, in a different voice than he had been using with the sprawler. Peter was really bad with tones.

“What?”

“Y’know I know you’re this super-famous-awesomely-hot hero but if anything you stole my suit. Also, I cannot!” Peter winced at his screeching “believe you just disrespected my babies like that!”

“The… the desert eagles?” 

“You know their names?! Well actually their real names are Moe and Larry but--” The man’s hands were going crazy with movement, but seriously? Peter didn’t really care.

“What did you want from him? Why threaten to rip his fingernails out?” Peter slightly shook the man still in his grasp. The sprawler whimpered, and normally Peter would care about that type of thing, but sprawler had pulled a gun at cosplayer. Peter could tell he was A-okay with pulling the trigger. “What did you mean by ‘spill’? What are you looking for?”

“That, sweet baby spider, is between me and my companion.” Cosplayer struggled with his webbed arms at his sides, and began to tilt himself in an odd angle. Peter knew his webbing was secure even if the man looked like he could bench a car. 

“What the fuck is this shit made of? Is this coming out of your body? Does your jizz also look like this?” Peter chose to ignore Cosplayer.

“Do you know what he wants from you?” Peter asked Sprawler.

“N-no I don’t know what’s going on.” 

“That’s a lie and you know it!” Panda Mask yelled. Peter didn’t put it past dangerous cosplayer to be completely insane. The man was still babbling, but if Peter even tried to listen to his idiotic mouth garbage he’d be led off track from his objective: get both of these guys to the police station. It wasn’t Spider Man's job to interrogate loonies.

Then he heard a terrifying sound.

Cosplayer was bent to his far left (in a way Peter previously thought only he was capable of) literally digging his mouth into his hip, and ripping a blade out of his body. Peter almost threw up. 

He pushed Sprawler behind him and to the ground, not caring about the hard ‘thump’ that he heard as he stepped forward. Cosplayer had now used the blade in his mouth to cut his arms free, and Peter’s fist flew downward, hitting Cosplayers head hard enough to stun him but not do serious (cranium crushing) damage.

It did not stun him. He acted like he didn’t even feel the hit. How was he able to cut his hands free? Normal knives can’t cut through Peter’s webs.

He was now bending to cut his feet free, but Peter put his foot on his shoulder and kicked forwards, yanking his body up and away from his own legs. Cosplayer fell backwards, the rest of the attached webbing on his feet did nothing to keep him in place. His ripped open mid-section spewed more blood with the fall. Peter stood over him and kicked the right part of his stomach, avoiding the wound and putting slightly more strength into the blow, hoping to incapacitate him. Instead Cosplayer laughed.

“You’re gonna have to hit harder than that Baby Spider.” The man threw a knife the same time he grabbed for Spiderman’s ankle, and Peter dodged the knife by ducking. Cosplayer’s pull sent Spiderman onto his knee, and Peter leaned over to punch his jaw, dislocating it. Spiderman had him pinned to the ground by his throat now. “This is so not how I thought our first meeting would go.” The mans words were garbled by a mouth that wouldn’t work properly. “I knew we’d be all over each other, just in a different way!” His hips punctuated his meaning, and almost brushed against Spiderman who was still using the position to keep the man down.

“Jeez do you ever just shut up?!” Peter yelled in his face while punching again. The man was breathing raggedly now. “Stand down. You’re been caught, and you’re only hurting yourself now.”

“Baby, hurting myself is my superpower! Also, do you know how hard it is to hide a knife in your guts?”

“No, I don’t.” Peter definitely knew Cosplayer was not in his right mind, and was more dangerous than he’d originally thought. He went to grab cosplayers other arm so he could web them in place but Peter’s spidey sense screamed. His own legs bent and flipped him backwards, letting the arm and neck go. Peter had missed that the man had already grabbed another knife, probably from one of the pockets he had littering his spandex costume. He had swung the blade toward him, but spiderman was now in a crouch five feet away.

“Damn! You’re one fast spider!” He yelled as he ran out of the alley into the street. Blood leaking in spurts.

“Shit.” Peter took a glance at his cocooned prisoner, and then sprinted after his escaped criminal. Even with his speed, when he reached the street he couldn’t see the red and black costume anywhere. He looked for the trail of blood. Following it to the other side of the building Peter only found a puddle where the trail ends. Cosplayer was bleeding so much there's no way he could’ve stopped it from dripping. It was like he just disappeared. Peter couldn’t handle the amount of anger and confusion he was feeling.

He punched the wall next to him, grunting with the pain. Bits of brick and dust flew out. Breathing heavy, he grabbed at the undamaged wall next to his impromptu stress relief, and began to quickly climb upwards. 

Now with a birds eye view he scanned farther down the street each way, but no flashes of red and black. Peter tried to listen for the mans boots hitting the ground, or his breath, but Peter heard nothing from the man. It was like he just disappeared. Like he hadn’t even existed. One moment running down the street, bleeding enough to die, and the next just gone. Peter fisted his hands over his mask and against his temples, pressing inwards. The pressure helped with the overwhelming confusion.

But Peter had failed. An extremely dangerous and mentally unstable man was roaming his streets and Peter couldn’t even follow him a couple blocks.

“I’m useless,” he found himself muttering into his forearms. At one point Spiderman had sunk into a crouch without noticing. He could tell his masks eyes were closed. “Jesus Christ. I’m still not good enough.” He had a long day, and being Spiderman was supposed to help him help people. Help him feel better, help him do what he’s meant to.  
Ben’s voice echoed in his head constantly telling him to try harder. But just now, he didn’t help anyone-- If that man hurts someone, it’s on Peter. Hell, if he hurts himself anymore that’s also on Peter. Spiderman didn’t stop him. Didn’t web him enough. Didn’t cocoon him when he had a chance. People are going to get hurt because Peter wasn’t good enough. People are going to get hurt because Spiderman didn’t stop him when he had the chance.

Peter thought about Ben. And how even after becoming Spiderman and spending ungodly hours fighting crime, people were still getting hurt-- getting killed-- because Peter couldn’t be better. Because he wasn’t taking the responsibility he needed to be. 

The pressure on his head was helping.  
Eventually Peter was able to reason. It was fine, there's no way the red and black clad man could hide forever. Peter would find him. Peter remembers what his boots sounded like-- he also remembered what his stomach sounded like when it ripped open. Peter decided to take this chance to throw up. Lifting his mask, he bent over and dry heaved on the rooftop. When only bile managed to come out he realized he had nothing to eat all day. Huh.

Today has sucked, and he wish he could go back in time and fix all of the fuck ups he’s made since waking up. As he stood and rubbed his empty stomach, he contemplated his next course of action. He needed to do something with the man still cocooned in webbing in the alleyway below him. Peter also needed to find the man who had escaped. Peter also still had a drug ring to investigate.

Peter took a deep breathe. First things first-- get Sprawler to a police station. Every move Peter made for the rest of the night would be secondary to listening for a specific clunk of boots. Peter still had lots of intel to gather, and that means lots of land to cover too. Spiderman jumped from the rooftop to the alley below and startled Sprawler. The smell of piss made Peter gag and stand a bit aways from the man before approaching him. Jeez, Peter felt kind of bad. How long was he on the roof again?

Spiderman doesn’t specifically remember gagging the man while cocooning him, but here he was, muffled noises of alarm filling Peter’s ears.

“Hey-- I said Hey! You’re fine okay? It’ll be fine I just gotta get you to a police station and you’ll be safe from Cosplayer.” The mans muffled noises of alarm got worse when he said police station. “Hey, seriously man, please shut up. I cannot handle your noises right now.” Peter leaned against the wall behind him and shut his eyes, thinking about the amount of people he’d have to find to get anywhere in this investigation. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about Rohan Snider, wouldya?”

To Peter’s surprise, the man stopped struggling, looked Spiderman in the eyes, and nodded eagerly. Peter begrudgingly removed the gag, first making him promise not to make unnecessary noise. This guy also tried to bargain with Spiderman, in exchange for information he’d be able to walk free. Peter didn’t take bribes, but he did like information. Sprawler still went to the station, but Peter now had a location.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey thanks for reading! Your support means a lot to me!  
> If you notice any grammar or spelling mistakes please let me know!


	2. An FN Five-seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter doesn't get far in his investigation, but that doesn't mean he's not trying. Good thing Lucky Charms are comforting.

Peter was in an unfamiliar part of the Bronx. When he was thwipping his way out of Manhattan he had listened to everything he could (which was a lot) but he didn’t hear anything that came from Cosplayer. None of the similar boots or similar voices actually ended up being the dangerous man from before. The guilt of letting him go was eating Peter alive.  
But now Spiderman slowly crawled on the ledge of a...bank? He wasn’t exactly sure. He was trying to find the best spot he could hangout on this roof. Peter smiled to himself.

It was a perfect place to set up his stakeout on Rohan Snider’s apartment. Peter didn’t know much about the guy, just that he was more important than your average drug dealer, and was apparently well known. Two people that Spiderman had recently apprehended, that were involved in heroin distribution, had known him.

Usually Spiderman would spend this time of the night patrolling and looking for things that triggered his spidey-sense. Stakeouts were definitely not his M.O., but Peter knew Rohan was important, just not why. 

Spiderman watched as Rohan Snider entered his apartment with a friend. Peter was willing to bet his friend was also involved with drug distribution, based on the the guns both men casually wore on their bodies. Pete wasn’t close enough to see their make and model.  
He waited around for an hour, watching the two talk through the conveniently placed window. He spent the whole time restlessly moving or fidgeting. Peter’s never been able to sit still for long. He was sitting cross legged behind the ledge and making a miniature web in his fingers when the two started to look like they were arguing. Rohan’s friend pulled his gun out of his pants and pointed it at Rohan. The hairs on the back of Peter’s neck stood up. Now that it was pulled from the friends holster, Peter noted that this one resembled an FN Five-seven.   
Rohan had his hands up, and was crying now. Then his friend (or, not friend?) went to grab something behind his couch. Rohan’s questionable friend then exited the building, leaving Rohan behind. He sat on his couch with his head in his hands as his friend briskly walked down the street.

Peter had his suspicions about this friend guy, but that didn’t mean he could just go web him up and talk to him. He may ruin the whole lead if he acted recklessly. So instead of apprehending him, Spiderman quietly followed him from the rooftops. Trailing behind the guy was fine and great until he got into a (very suspicious looking) black car.

The car sped off, burning rubber and leaving a dark print on the street. Peter let it go. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be finding anything tonight, and he was bored. Peter decided to swing back to Brooklyn to test his heroin sample, and listen for the Red and Black cosplayer on the way. 

Spiderman was able to do his usual patrol while also slowly making his way closer to home in a roundabout way. At one point in the night he ran into a woman being harassed by a much older man. Peter took his frustration with the investigation out on the man. He didn’t mean to, but his punches still landed with slightly more force than he would usually use. The woman was clearly distraught, and ran off before Peter could tell her that actually staying and giving a statement would make it easier for the guy to be punished. She still ran. Spiderman needed to be gentler with victims, he had to work on his tone and inflection. Peter punched the guy again, this time because he knew he wouldn’t get the actual sentence he deserved. Peter was better at punching than talking.

When Peter reached his own apartment he perched on the edge of the roof for a second, feeling if anyone was watching. When the feeling was silent he slid down the wall and into his window. Sliding was only easy to him because he was so well versed with wall crawling. You just let gravity do the work, and you occasionally stick a finger or two to slow your descent. When he was in his apartment he double checked the lock on his door, and both windows locks again. None of them showed signs of being tampered with. Good.

Peter went to his room and stripped from his Spidey suit, changing into a very large loose T-shirt and some pajama pants. Now that he let himself breathe for a second he remembered two very important things. First, his electricity was still out. Second, he hadn’t eaten anything all day, and it was far into nighttime now.

Deciding to get the electricity dealt with first, he left his apartment through his front door. The elevator in his building was one that Peter avoided at all costs, it made an obscene high pitched whine when it was moving. Before his super-hearing he probably wouldn’t have even noticed the noise, but because of how it grates his nerves Peter would rather take the stairs.  
As he descended floor after floor he thought about what he’s actually going to say to his landlord. He’s given her so many excuses in the past she’s probably ready to kick him out even if he does hand over the money right when she opens the door. Which he wouldn’t be doing because Jameson still hasn’t coughed up for the pictures Peter’s given him the past two weeks. Maybe Jameson does know Peter’s Spiderman, and this is his twisted way for getting back at the neighborhood menace.

Reaching the bottom floor of his building Peter went to knock on the door labelled with an hours available sign. Although the sign says 9am-9pm Peter still needed electricity tonight, so he knocked and mentally prepped himself.

The elderly grey haired woman opened the door. Peter tried to look for telltale signs of frustration on her, but her expression didn’t change as he took a moment to search her face. Maybe she was just used to his awkwardness by now. His heart rate sped up.

“Peter, I know you can read the sign.” She broke the silence first.

“My electricity is out.” Fuck, of course she knew that.

“I know Peter--”

“I know you know that of course you do but I need to do chemistry and I need light and I don’t have a paycheck from Jameson yet but he’s supposed to pay me soon and I’m sorry but my rent is always on time and I know this is like the third time this year and-- my electricity is out.” He paused. He had run out of things he’d scripted. Mentally floundering he tried to find chunks of language that were currently available to him that conveyed his thoughts. The pause was suffocating. Peter hadn’t realized his brain was this stressed.

“--my electricity is out.” Peter was now stalling, searching for individual words to piece together a script to say. He had known he had become more and more wound up, but he didn’t realize he was so overwhelmed that he’d revert to echolalia.

“Peter stop.” Peter shut his mouth. “Take a moment to breathe. I know Peter, you’re very trustworthy in eventually meeting deadlines but this time another resident in the building also didn’t pay, and it wouldn’t be fair if I turned your electricity on and left theirs off.” Susan was still holding the door open, and Peter was now tug tug tugging at his shirt, shifting from foot to foot. He couldn’t put the thoughts racing in his mind into words.

“I need light, ” Was all he could say. Damn it, Parker.

“Yes, and this time it will be out until you pay. I’m sorry Peter.” She did seem sorry, he thought. Instead of her earlier expression her face had slightly shifted. Her brows were now lower and the ends of her lips now creased. Both of those were under the category of sad, but both also went into category frustrated. Peter was stressed. He really really needed to do testing on that heroin. He wouldn’t be able to relax until he found out what trace elements it had.

“My electricity is out.”

“Yes.”

“It will be out until you pay.” He parroted from her.

“Yes. I think we’re done here Peter.”

“Susan,” Another voice said from behind her. Peter was still searching her face, and the frown lines deepened. “I think I can pay for him this month. It’d be no trouble at all.” Susan stepped away from the door to look at the person seated on her very nice couch. It was a younger man, although this one was wearing sunglasses. At night. What?

“Matt I know you always want to do good, but you can’t just throw money away like that. You’re already helping me with my case, I can’t expect you to do this!” He had never heard his landlady hiss before. 

“Well,” Matt’s voice was soothing, “then don’t expect me to do it. I want to. And you said it yourself, he’s good for it.” She harrumphed as he started to stand, “It’s really no issue for me, and he can pay me back when he gets his paycheck.” Susans frown was more prominent.

“I hope your kindness won’t betray you one day.” Susan seemed weary to Peter, and he was very confused now. He didn’t understand Matt’s motives here. This person was a stranger putting blind financial trust into him. Peter never felt comfortable accepting help from anyone, and for a moment he paused to think about why that is. Nevermind, it’s not important right now. Peter just needs lights to look at the heroin in order to help people. This isn’t for him, he shouldn’t feel ashamed. Of course he’d pay ‘Matt’ back though, so there’s nothing to be too concerned over.

“I think he’s good for it, right kid?”

“You don’t even know his name!” Susan did yell this time. Peter flinched at the obnoxious volume.

“What’s your name?” Matt said as he grabbed his walking stick. Peter hadn’t noticed it before, but now the sunglasses made sense. He was blind. Peter wasn’t able to come up with a suitable response, so he stayed silent. The anxiety was choking.

Matt’s frown deepened as he walked towards Susan and Peter. Peter wasn’t able to gauge his expression right. He couldn’t tell whether he was uncomfortable, angry, or any other emotion Peter feared.

“He’s autistic Matt.” Susan seemed tired. “I think he’s done talking for tonight.”

“Oh well then. You don’t need to worry. Can you tell me his name, Susan?” Susan’s frown was still there, but now she was looking at Peter, probably trying to catch his eyes. His eyes had moved to his feet though and he realized he was barefoot in pajama pants. Yikes. Susan sighed.

“Matt this is Peter, Pete this is my lawyer. Look, I’m sorry Peter, I didn’t mean to hurt you. But playing favorites is not something I want to do with my renters. I’m glad Matt is offering to pay for you though, I do care about you. Just make sure to give him the money back.”

“Look, I’m sorry Peter,” Peter cut that piece of apology out of her speech, hoping it’d convey his own remorse. He hated when people felt bad for him.

“I know Peter. When you get the money from Jameson just bring it to me. Your lights should be on when you get back to your apartment.” Susan smiled for the first time that night.

“Don’t leave just yet. If you don’t mind,” Matt was in front of Peter now, sticking his hand out for Peter to shake. “I’m Matt Murdock. If you ever need legal advice, I’m your guy.” He smiled, like he was about to laugh. “I know the city can be unforgiving to people like us.” His hand wasn’t directly pointed at Peter, probably because he was working with sound and not sight. Peter did not shake it. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Peter said.

“Oh right. Matt, he doesn’t like to be touched.”

“That’s fine.” Matt’s corners of his mouth pulled upward instead. He put both his hands on his walking stick, the silence was heavy.

“It’s nice to meet you Peter.” He repeated the greeting. His heart rate had slowed down, but the link between vocal language and thoughts still needed some time. He really hoped Matt wouldn’t think he was crazy.

“You mentioned chemistry earlier. Are you in school? You sound young.”

Peter stepped backward, shaking his head, but she couldn’t see him. He really didn’t like having conversations when he couldn’t even say what he was thinking, it was beyond frustrating. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He said starting to turn. 

“Okay, goodbye Peter. I’ll see you soon okay?” Susan asked, her expression seemed worried. 

“Okay, goodbye Peter.” He said, walking away now. As he reached the end of the hallway he heard Matt.

“Goodbye Peter!”

“Goodbye Peter!” He yelled back, taking the stairs two at a time.

 

Susan hadn’t lied earlier when she said his electricity would be working by the time he got to his floor. She must know he takes the stairs. With his electricity on he was ready for some chemistry. Peter had previously decided that he needed to double check the NYPD’s impurity profile conducted on heroin samples that they had collected. They apparently were finding an overwhelming amount of samples laced with fentanyl, but Peter wouldn’t put it past them to be lazy and cut corners about the actual profiling done with the samples. It was easy to tell if Heroin was cut with a quick test of liquid chromatography, but finding out what adulterants were used was harder. Bringing his makeshift lab to life on his coffee table, he prepared his needed chemicals and containers, and plugged in his laptop. He got comfortable on the floor in front of his ‘lab’. He missed doing stuff like this.

He was sitting in a crouch, his knees pulled to his chest and feet on the floor. This was the most comfortable way to sit for him. He felt very spidery. He unwrapped the bit of heroin he had, and was very confused.

Over time a properly prepared and stored heroin hydrochloride wouldn’t degrade in any significant manner. In this context “properly prepared and stored” means fully hydrated pure hydrochloride salt stored in a dark and ambient temperature. Usually degradation is common for illicitly produced heroin, since there are very few sellers that properly prepare and store the product.

Peter knows he’s had this sample for at least 24 hours, and it was only wrapped with wax-paper and a rubber band. He took note of the stamped ink on the paper, it was a single large dot. Peter’s never participated in any drugs, but his excursions as spiderman had him encountering enough dealers to know that most rings tagged their product as a way of advertising.

If this heroin had any fentanyl in it, it wouldn’t even come close to being this high grade. It would be extremely deteriorated, but instead it was fully hydrated. Maybe he had a bad sample that wasn’t actually what most people on the street were using.

No, he thought, this had to be the right type of sample. The perp he had detained was a common guy, he wasn’t moving the stuff or anything. He was the lackey, selling the product, not somebody with enough money to care about their grade of heroin.

One thing was for sure; Peter needed to get another sample. For now though, he decided to test the one he had and later compare the results with other samples he intended to get. He may even be able to determine linkages between specimens, such as a general source region. Which could then in turn lead him closer to where it was being produced, and who was producing it. Although to do so he would definitely need additional information and a broader analysis scheme… Which would mean a lot more intelligence gathering. Peter was getting ahead of himself. All he needed to do right now was figure out what the fuck was in this heroin.

He had already moved on from sample prep and begun to dissolve the first half in one part N-dimethylformamide when he noticed the sample… change. Which was odd because he wasn’t even to the good part yet.

Peter replayed all of his steps in his head, but found no fault in his conduction of the lab. An analyst would obviously need to exercise care in order to avoid excess hydrolysis, but Peter was being as careful as always. There’s no way the N-dimethylformamide would’ve changed the samples pH so extremely it would cause the heroin to--move? 

His spidey-sense screamed at him to jump onto the ceiling, but he was frozen in front of his lab. What the fuck! The sample was moving by itself. And Peter was panicking.  
Peter didn’t know what to do, and he always knew what to do in a lab. Peter decided to set everything down, turn off all of his prepped heaters and put all the chemicals away into their original containers. His hands were shaking. The spidey-sense hasn’t stopped ringing. He wasn’t done with testing, but he for sure wasn’t going to treat the drug like he originally had been.

The sample that had been dissolved in the N-dimethylformamide was now materializing itself into a thick blob within the lighter liquid, as if Peter had not just melted it into a homogenous solution. Peter scooped the compound out of the N-dimethylformamide and into a petri dish. The glob was still twitching but it wasn’t as violent as before. He still had half of his entire sample of heroin left, as a result of wanting a control, but Peter wasn’t quite sure what he needed to do with it. 

He needed another heroin sample from a different source. That was for sure. He still needed to do his originally planned tests to find out what’s causing the overdoses. But with what just happened with the current sample he had now, he’s worried he’ll come across others that are similar.

If Peter was right and the sample is what people on the street are being sold, then no wonder the rates of drug related deaths have skyrocketed. Peter went around and around in his thoughts. Arguing that this sample has to be different, it can’t be what’s commonly sold. From the beginning it looked odd. Then there was the nagging fear in the back of his mind telling him that people are injecting the very same compound into their veins--

Who knows what it could do inside someone's body. Peter was clutching his head now. He took deep breaths. He needs to stop stressing himself out so much. Despite his efforts thoughts raced around his skull and down his throat, choking him. He rocked on his toes, clutching his knees to his chest. It was hard to push past the fear for his city, fear for the people he’s supposed to protect, like he was supposed to protect Gwen. He still visits her, and talks to her grave sometimes. But the guilt never leaves him. He was supposed to do good-- but he couldn’t even keep his friend alive. He couldn’t even keep May alive. 

Peter couldn’t breathe now. He didn’t usually let himself think about May but the thoughts were seeping out. Tears started to sting his eyes but he wasn’t sure what exactly he was feeling. He just knew he was very upset. He went back to tugging at his hair. Peter rocked, trying to calm down. His stomach growled and he remembered he hadn’t eaten anything all day, which is probably contributing to his unstable emotions. Taking a moment to breath deep and wipe his face, he gets up and pads into his excuse of a kitchen. He’s sure his face is a mess of snot and tears.

Even without opening his fridge he knew it was empty. He grabbed the box of cereal from his cupboard, content to eat it dry. Peter was actually very picky when it came to food, but Lucky Charms was one of his exceptions. It had good memories of when he was a kid.   
“You’re going to be late for school.” The thoughts spurred him to parrot. Stop. Thinking of his childhood would inevitably remind him of her. He had just stopped crying, he didn’t need a reminder right now. Peter sat on his kitchen floor leaning against the wall. He was facing the window he sometimes came in and out of when it was dark enough no one could see his suit. He calmly munched on his cereal as he stared out of it.

Tomorrow he’ll be back to his regular scheduled programming; Being Spiderman dusk ‘til dawn. Peter felt relieved at the prospect. He could also get more heroin tomorrow on his patrol. He could also also get some spidey pics for Jameson. He could also also also listen for Cosplayer. He’d get a lot done tomorrow, and he promised himself it would be better than today. 

Closing his eyes, he listened one more time for cosplayer. Some part of him wanted Peter to hear nothing, and go to bed. The other part of him was screaming for Peter to get off his ass and actually go looking for the criminal. Peter didn’t hear any boots, and the voices within a reasonably large radius were the same ones he heard every night. Peter didn’t have any friends, but the voices of New York worked just fine for comfort. He cut everyone off a long time ago, hoping to keep them safe. Safer than Gwen and Harry. Safer than May. 

Thinking about all of his mistakes usually wound Peter up, but he found himself lulled by the sound of cars and people. He heard Matt leave Susan’s, and Peter was worried for the man. It would be hard getting around New York blind, but also in the middle of the night with questionable people up and about? Peter’s Spidey-sense followed Matt until he walked into a building all the way in Hell’s Kitchen. Surprisingly, Peter didn’t feel one flick of his sense the whole way. Matt must be very good at avoiding danger.  
He didn’t realize he was drifting off to sleep during his musings, but nonetheless there he went on the kitchen floor. His head sagging forward and his cereal relaxing in his grip.  
For the first time in a long time, Peter didn’t feel alone. Probably because the sleep was peaceful for once thanks to a certain ‘vigilante’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks for reading another chapter.
> 
> The Chemistry Peter does in this chapter is a combination of things I learned in school and a quick read of the UN's manual for Impurity Profiling of Heroin and Cocaine which you can find here: https://www.unodc.org/documents/publications/report_st-nar-35.pdf  
> Also yes those were all real chemicals that are not key smashes, go ahead you can even look them up if you want.
> 
> Sorry about the lack of Deadpool so far! I felt like Peter needed some background and I needed a basis for his investigation. Also, I'm trying to research Deadpool's mental illnesses because I actually don't have attention deficit hyperactive disorder, manic depression disorder, or schizophrenia and I really want to portray it accurately/in a not bad way.  
> I'm really excited to have Peter and Deadpool actually interact though!
> 
>  
> 
> Also I edited the tags once again to hopefully get everything in there, if I missed something YOU think should be tagged please let me know! It matters a lot to me!
> 
> Anyways Thankyou SO MUCH for all your support, and please let me know if you found any spelling errors or grammar mistakes!


	3. Sig Sauer P238

Peter had woken up that morning to a spilled Lucky Charms box and skin that felt like glue. Honestly, Peter wasn’t even upset about sleeping upright on the floor. He was just sad that the rest of his food had spilt. After sweeping up, he was finally able to do his normal routine, which felt extremely good after yesterday’s fiasco. Lack of consistency didn’t sit well with Peter.  
Although he hadn’t slept in his bed last night, Peter still smoothed the corners of his sheets and fluffed his pillow. He tossed his pajamas into his laundry bag to be washed when he remembered, and hopped into the shower. He noted he was out of his conditioner, and although that was disappointing, it wasn’t enough to ruin his morning.  
What was enough to ruin his morning was Jameson’s voicemail demanding Peter to come into the office today, something about a new article he wanted Peter to write. It was… weird for Jameson to ask Peter himself for articles. They usually only talked about photos.   
It was also upsetting because Peter was planning to pick up right where he left off with his investigation. Find some heroin dealers and get this show on the road. However… seeing Jameson today probably meant he would finally be getting his paycheck. Peter agreed to write the article.   
Dressed in civvies and backpack hanging off of him, he picked up the petri dish of heroin to examine before he left. It was the exact same as he had left it, deterioration nonexistent. Peter had to rip himself away from the sample before he did something stupid, like jump right back into the Spider suit and figure this shit out. As much as he lives for Spidey, he really needed his paycheck.

The trip into Manhattan was far easier than yesterday, probably because Peter wasn’t bouncing off the walls. But his fingers still tapped on the bar he held in the train, and his toes still danced in his shoes in the office’s elevator (which had a much smoother ride than his apartment’s). That was just how Peter operated, always ‘fidgeting’. It was really just him finding excusable ways to stim. When he was younger it had made his teachers mad at him, adults were constantly telling him to knock it off. Now, since Peter was grown and not a child they could scold, people just gave him lingering looks. Peter had to wonder what Matt thought of him yesterday. The embarrassment of his conversation had Peter doing a hard facepalm, which gathered some looks from the crowd in the elevator.

Peter entered Jameson’s personal office instead of going to his own cubicle. Ten minutes later Peter was having a hard time breathing on the subway home. Jameson always seemed to stress Peter exponentially, but two days in a row was rough. Peter jumped off the train at the next stop, not caring where he was.

Getting suited up in a dark alley wasn’t uncommon for Peter. His Spider-sense was pretty keen on whether not someone was spying on him. He wasn’t quite sure how he was going to go about the whole ‘Hey I need your heroin’ thing. He had decided that asking as Spidey would be one hundred percent less awkward than asking as Peter Parker, the shy skinny kid that some people still mistakenly thought of as a teen.  
But it would still be awkward. How would Peter even know who to ask? Would it be rude to just assume if some people had heroin on them? Would they get mad at him? Peter was not good at being gentle with people. He was good at reading patterns, or movements people might make next. Jokes were definitely better than delicate situations. Feelings were hard. He was way better suited to just swinging in and taking everyone down.   
Spiderman was now in full spider mode, and he stashed his backpack in the alley. Spiderman crawled up the building next to him, hoping that the higher he got the more likely it was to see someone that might sell drugs down below.

 

Peter had now been sitting in a crouch on top of a rooftop for about half an hour. He had moved to this location in hopes that a seedier area may be more promising. His anxiety was stewing. He saw a girl down below, who was scarily thin and had been sitting on the sidewalk for as long as Spider Man's been here. He swayed on the balls of his feet, mentally psyching himself up. Peter’s sure she’s seen him by now, he wasn’t exactly hiding. He didn’t need to. He just needed to talk to her. Actually, physically, get up and talk to her.  
Usually when Peter’s in the suit all of the shyness melts away into a loudmouthed hero, with confidence radiating off of him. But now, facing the possibility of her turning him away, he felt like a kid in highschool again. Unable to even raise his hand to answer a question.  
Peter crawled down the wall. The girl did not react. Peter stood up on normal feet. She still did not react. Peter was in front of her, and she was sitting back, blearily gazing up at him. She still didn’t react. Peter knew she was alive, she was blinking, breathing, the whole nine yards.  
Peter shifted from foot to foot. Maybe Peter was right and she was an addict? And this was just part of the whole addict thing.  
“Do you have any heroin?” He asked. Wait. Fuck. What if she thought he was trying to bust her? “Not because I want to arrest you or anything. That’s not what I do. I mean I do take bad guys in but I don’t, I don’t go looking for people with drugs, yknow? But I’m asking because I need samples to run tests on. And I just. You seemed nice?” Peter’s voice went a little higher at the end.  
“You’re spiderman?” She asked.  
“You’re not wrong.” Peter replied.  
“Wow” She said, smiling now.  
“Uh, yeah. Do you have heroin I can use?”   
“Spiderman shoots up?” She wasn’t smiling anymore.  
“No. No, no, no, no. No. I uh, I need to run some tests. To make sure you’re safe.”  
“Uh huh.” She said. Peter was really really bad at reading people, but he didn’t think she was going to give him her heroin, even though he was pretty sure she definitely had some type of hard drug on hand.  
“Please?” He asked. He had come so far in this.  
“You got money?” Peter knew this might happen. He didn’t really feel comfortable stealing from people, but he barely had enough money for his necessities. He couldn’t cough up and buy heroin. Wow this was weird for him.  
“Do you really want to charge Spiderman? I mean, I’m a hero. To like. At least twelve people.”   
“Pshh. Prove to me you’re actually Spideyman.” She was smiling again now. Peter awkwardly laughed. He was pretty sure she watched him crawl down the wall earlier, but he ran at the wall besides her and did a quick flip off of it anyways. When he looked back at her she was just sitting there. Peter did it again.  
“Whoa okay dude. No need to show off.” She was laughing now. Peter attempted to laugh with her, not really sure what was funny. Matching laughter with people was part of the whole acting normal thing he had painfully learned in school. She was digging around in her bag when Peter froze. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  
Boots were walking down a street two blocks over. Peter double checked, also listening to the deep voice. It was him, it was finally cosplayer. He was singing?  
“Wait here.” He said, holding a hand out to stop her, as if she would be getting up anytime soon.  
He climbed the brick building, moving so fast his fingers barely touched the wall. He couldn’t hesitate. He needed to catch him this time. Peter followed the noise, and stopped when he was above it. Cosplayer was whistling now, doing an odd skip. He was still in his red and black suit, swords and guns strapped to him. Peter also knew now that there were hidden knives.  
Peter launched himself at the man, who squawked when Peter’s body knocked his over.  
“Hey! I’m walkin here!” The man said from the ground in a bad accent, probably as a joke. Even under normal circumstances Peter wouldn’t find it funny.  
“You’ve been overdo for a visit to the NYPD.” Peter’s confidence was back.  
“Spiderman!” The man gushed, putting his hands to his face. “You know we’re huge fans right? Can I have an autograph?”  
“Is that why you’re wearing bad cosplay?”  
“WHA-No! What the hell? Last time we met I already told you it wasn’t cosplay! This is my suit! My style! I’m Deadpool! You’re the one stealing the mojo honeycakes!”  
“Shut up.” Peter webbed his hand to his knee as he was using it to get up.  
“Double wha! We didn’t even do anything wrong! You know, you’re gonna lose a fan if you keep behaving like this. What would Iron Douche do?” The man was making a scene of pulling at the webbing with his other hand. “I know I asked you this last time but seriously does this come out of your body? On one hand that’d be like uber cool, but on the other this stuff is disgusting. Heh. Get it? On one hand.” He was gesturing at his current predicament.  
“You ‘Did nothing wrong’? You were threatening a man at gunpoint. You two definitely had an altercation going on. And am I supposed to believe all of those weapons are procured through legal means?”   
“You got me there.” He was pointing at Spiderman, masked eyes wide.  
“Just. Ugh.” Peter aimed to webb him up further, but he unsheathed a katana, cutting himself free and standing. He was using his blades to keep Spiderman’s webbs from hitting his body. But Peter’s webbs weren’t sticking to the swords, so he couldn’t rip the weapons out of his grasp. It must be some kind of treated metal. “Hey-- Cosplayer stop!” Peter was frantic now, the man was walking backwards.  
“Okay you’ve definitely lost a fan Spidey. We used to think you were cool! And my name’s deadpool! Stop trying to tie me up! I’d be down for it if we actually,” He grunted as he was fighting off the attacks from Spiderman, “established a safeword or something!” Peter stopped his advances. What?  
“What?” Deadpool said safeword? What did sex have to do with this?  
“Ooh, baby boy’s interested? What a plot twist!” He yelled as he brought a round object from one of his many pockets. “I’d get back if I were you, this thing blows up every third use.”  
Peter didn’t have time to cover himself from the blast, and he was thrown into the air backwards. His lower spine broke the fall for him, he was definitely bruised. Peter groaned as he rolled to his side. His mask was in tact, as well as the rest of the suit. Good. His eyes were still working too. He knew he’d be feeling the bruising for at least a day or two.  
Deadpool was gone, and the girl from earlier was now in the mouth of the alley. Peter squinted at her.  
“I uh, I still have your heroin?” She was holding out the small wax and rubber band package as if it wasn’t illegal.  
“Thanks.” He groaned, dropping his head back to the ground. At least Peter had succeeded in something today.

 

After that embarrassing altercation, Peter collected his backpack and went home, intending to get more work done. An empty fridge and stomach convinced him otherwise. He decided it’d be best to get real food in himself before he lets the hunger affect his mood. A trip to the store wouldn’t get in the way too much of doing new tests, and after the tests he could pick up where he left off with Rohan.  
When he was on his way out of the building, he stopped by Susan’s to drop off payment for his electricity bill. He didn’t see Matt this time, but Susan seemed happy that he stopped by. Happy in a way that was different than a ‘your tenant is paying their bill’ and more a ‘the kid you were worried about is still alive’ way.  
Her eyes were crinkly and she was smiling, but Peter noticed she didn’t ask him her usual twenty questions. Peter didn’t mind, he actually liked his privacy, even if she kind of reminded him of May and being around her made him feel less lonely.

Peter began to mentally prepare himself as he walked to the corner store he frequented. It may not have been top quality, but it was close by and cheap.   
For Peter, talking to people as spiderman-on-a-mission versus talking to people as penis-parker were two very different things. Peter Parker required more of a suit than spiderman did. Before he had left his apartment Peter watched himself in the mirror, double checking--triple checking-- that he didn’t look weird or crazy or anything besides normal. Blending into the background was an art that Peter worked to perfect. He already gave people reason to glare at him with his behavior, he didn’t need to stand out anymore and add to the harsh judgement. His jeans and t-shirt didn’t make him feel better. He put a black hoodie on instead. The long sleeves were comforting.

 

He pulled his hood up as he passed a group of teenagers on the street, their loud laughter pounded into his head. His anxiety was making everything boom around him, and he could feel his spidey sense start to go off for things like tripping on his shoe laces, or the crack in the sidewalk. He guessed that yesterday’s drama combined with seeing Deadpool again was seriously taking its toll. Peter needed to be more careful on controlling these types of things. If he had just caught deadpool his stress wouldn’t be causing him so many problems right now.  
Peter was waist deep in his wallowing, but a guy’s gotta get some grub. He pulled headphones out of his pocket and used them as earplugs. They would get him through the trip.  
When Peter entered the corner store he did note that the atmosphere was… odd. But Peter was too busy trying (but failing) to conquer an oncoming headache. When he passed the single checkout line, he noted the person that was supposed to be there, was not there. Which meant less interaction with people. Good.  
He just wanted some food, his conditioner, and his makeshift lab at home.  
Peter walked the long way around hoping to avoid as many people as possible, and was now somewhere in the back of the store. He was glad he hadn’t seen anyone yet. Oh wait.  
Peter had gotten his hopes up only to be severely crushed.  
The store clerk was crouched on the ground, bending his body around the shelf of shampoo, as if trying to get a look at something. Peter didn’t care. Peter wanted to go home. His spidey-sense was running off the wall, telling him that there was a possibility the kid might knock over the shelf he’s leaning against.  
“Please stop leaning on that.” Peter asked him after a few moments went by. Peter’s brand of conditioner was also right next to the kid, but Peter didn’t want to get close enough to touch. The kid jumped at Peter’s voice. He looked super young, but Peter knew what it was like for people to mistake you for younger than you are.  
Peter might have tried to read the kids face if he wasn’t fighting a now intense headache. But honestly he really didn’t want to take anymore time analyzing someone’s emotions today, and the kids hair looks greasy. Peter didn’t want to look at it anymore.  
“Sorry! I was--” The kids voice got quieter, “I was trying to see what that lunatic was doing out there, he’s been in here for a half hour freaking everyone out. I’ve asked him to leave but,” The kid bit his lip, Peter noted he had several signs of fear going on. Like the way he wrung his hands. Peter knew these signs, he typically saw them when he was patrolling. But he wasn’t patrolling. He was a civilian right now.   
“I don’t want him to flip out anymore than he has. You saw his guns right?” The kid was searching Peter’s face, but Peter knew he wouldn’t find anything he was looking for. Peter was bad at expressing his emotions.  
“I didn’t see him.” Peter’s voice came out a bit more robotic than he intended, rough from the strain his headache was putting him through.  
“How could you not? He’s fucking terrifying.” The kid whispered to Peter. Peter could now hear the man the kid was talking about. He was rambling quite loudly, and Peter did wonder how he hadn’t noticed the intense monologue coming a couple aisles over, even with earbuds in. He shouldn’t let his stress control him like this. Idiot Peter.  
When he took a moment to listen, Peter swore his heart dropped straight out of his chest. It felt like someone had shoved a gag into the back of his throat.  
He knew this voice, Peter was in the same store as Deadpool. Penis Parker was in the same store as Deadpool.   
The kid in front of Peter seemed to be grateful when his face finally started to show emotion, as if he was worried about him before. But Peter was not quite sure why someone would be gratified with his expression, he felt pale and his eyes were probably the size of the moon.  
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” the kid quickly said “But I really wanted you to know what was going on, you know? You seemed like you weren’t really aware of anything. Are you high? Nevermind, it doesn’t matter. I really hope you’re not actually scared, because I am, and I was kind of hoping you’d talk to him for me. I’ve already tried, but he. He made fun of me man.” The kid looked down at his own shoes. “When I asked him to leave he just turned around and told me the only way I’d ever get laid was if I crawled up a chickens ass and waited.” Peter couldn’t help but laugh.  
“Oh fuck you.” The kid said with his own grin now. “Now you have to help me because you laughed at it.” The kid’s grin faded away when there was a loud crash in the store, presumably from Deadpool. “Please?” The kid asked again.  
Peter was conflicted now. There was a civilian asking him for help, but he was Peter Parker, not Spiderman. He couldn’t go try to capture deadpool like before. But this was his fault, every part of it. If Peter had just taken Deadpool down the past two times he’d ran into him, this kid wouldn’t be terrified right now. Peter wanted to tell the kid yes of course he’d help.  
But the words never bubbled up. Peter was overwhelmed and stuck in his head, drowning in his guilt. Not to mention the steering of his spidey sense, telling him to activate his web shooters and take deadpool down. End this here. Take him by surprise and get it over with. But Peter couldn’t do that. He’d give away his identity. He has to handle this like Peter Parker would.  
Peter searched his brain, trying to find some chunk of words that could express what he needed to to this kid. He didn’t even seem older than seventeen. If the kid got hurt, it would be Peter’s fault. He was now panicking.   
“Hey, are you okay? You don’t have to man. Do you need to sit down? Holy shit did I just ruin your trip or something?” The kid was now reaching out to Peter, as if to comfort him. It made everything worse.   
“He doesn’t like to shake hands.” Peter rushed out, slapping the kids hands away.   
“Sorry man I didn’t mean--”  
“Buckle your seatbelt.” That was the only chunk of language that was on hand that conveyed that he wanted the kid to stay safe. When he was a child May and Ben would always say it right before they started the car, because they wanted him to stay safe. The kid would understand, right?  
Probably not. But Peter still grabbed his conditioner and walked around him, heading for the clanging and yelling coming from the middle of the store. Peter was trying to come up with a script he could use to convey ‘Leave this place alone you fuckhead’ when he realized he had already reached Deadpool. That was too fast. He needed to say something because now Deadpool had freezed, and was staring at Peter. Spiderman wasn’t in his suit. Spiderman wasn’t here.  
Deadpool was probably wondering why a skinny pale kid was staring at him, and not running away screaming. Oh boy Peter was terrified. What if deadpool recognized his voice? What if Peter couldn’t even talk? What happened then?  
“Well, in New York they say-- that Peter’s anxiety grew three sizes that day.” He didn’t know what he would say, but he didn’t expect his author to conjure up that cruel joke to laugh at his peril.  
Deadpool had started to hysterically laugh at Peter, and was bent over clutching his knees.   
“The true meaning of Christmas came through, and Peter found the strength of ten Grinches, plus two.” Peter muttered as a response, pushing deadpools mess of a cart into the criminals thigh, making him step backward. Deadpool was still laughing.  
“You must be so fucking stoned right now! Oh my god I wish I was you.” What was with people thinking Peter was stoned today? He was sure when he left his building he looked crisp. Well, as crisp as you can be dressed in a hoodie. The point remains. Maybe it was better than them thinking there was something permanently ‘wrong’ with him? Peter hit deadpool with the cart again and he took another step backward.  
“Wha- hey. Just because you’re tripping balls doesn’t mean you get to--” Peter did it again.   
“Knock it off! Jeez LOUISE what’s got your pretty panties in a twist?!” This time Deadpool shoved it back at Peter, but he didn’t let it move backwards. It hit Peter pretty hard. “Look sugarpie as much as I’d love to play with you--” Deadpool paused for an uncomfortable minute, “I don’t have time for games.” Deadpool used his arm to dump the entire shelf of pain medication into his cart even though it was already full of four other shelves worth. “I got places to be-- Medication to take-- People to kill!” Peter stilled. He was shocked that Deadpool would say that type of thing. Unless he was joking? Was he joking? He searched for something to say, pushing the cart into deadpool’s thigh again. But the only relevant topic came bubbling up.  
“Kill?” Peter practically hissed.  
“Huh?” Deadpool stopped what he was doing, and turned to face Peter. “Oh that? You look scared.” He hummed. “Ignore that. That was a joke. I was joking. Don’t be scared I wouldn’t hurt a fly. Unless you asked me to. I would definitely slaughter a fly for you baby boy, don’t even hesitate.”  
“You’d never hurt a fly?”  
“Oh yeAH NEVER IN A MILLION YEARS!” Deadpool yelled. Peter clapped his hands over his head, earbuds and all. “Whoops sorry did I spook you? You look like someone just stepped on your puppy. Or you are the puppy and someone stepped on you.”  
“Puppy?”  
“Yeah you definitely look like a puppy. You got the big ol’ eyes thing going on,” Peter squinted, “And the whole fluffy messed up hair, and soft skin thing. You even have the guilt factor coming on too, what with the super skinny thing and all!” Deadpool was using his entire arm to shove shelves of pain medications and muscle relaxers into the cart. It was loud. Peter’s shoulders hunched up along with his arms. “Jeez take it easy, what’s wrong with you? You know your headphones aren’t even plugged into anything.” Peter wasn’t even acting that weird, who on earth would not react to the amount of sound deadpool was making? But the insult stuck.  
“Fuck you.” Peter didn’t even have to conjure up words with that one, the phrase just rolling off his tongue.  
“Huh?” Deadpool stopped in his collection of full shelves. “What’d I do? You totally look wrong with the word fuck coming out of your mouth. Like imagine a puppy swearing, that’s what you look like.”  
“What’s wrong with you? Fuck you.” Peter’s arms were still around his head, and he was debating whether or not he should shut his eyes. The lights were starting to hurt. His Spidey sense was also a constant stream of alarms going off now.  
“Oh! My B! I didn’t mean it like that, you just look super high. Man I wish I could still get stoned. Will you ever forgive me Mr. Puppy?” Deadpool wasn’t looking at Peter, instead he was reading the back of a Hello Kitty bandaid box. Then Deadpool let out a high pitch squeal, and yelled.  
“These are my favorite ones!” Which was the last straw for Peter. He tucked his chin against his chest, and balled his arms completely around his head, his eyes now shut. Trying to stop as much sound and light as he could. But his spidey-sense was still bombarding him, telling him that everything was dangerous. Peter could still hear too, his super hearing never letting him have a break.  
“Whoa oh em gee yikes uh okay I’m not exactly sure what I should do, but I definitely know that this is my fault in some way or another. My bad Mr. Puppy. I’ll buy you a sandwich if you stop looking like that. It makes me sad to see you suffer.”  
Peter groaned.  
“He speaks!” Deadpool yelled, and Peter was angry now. He obviously wasn’t sorry if he would just yell again like that. Although it physically hurt to do so, Peter uncovered his head and decided that the faster he gets out of here the better.  
Plus Peter was just tired of this shit. He wanted food for his fridge and conditioner for his showers. His brain felt like it was splitting open and he could hear everything. It was escalating. He definitely did not sign up to be mocked by his enemy while dressed in civvies. Peter stomped to the front of the store and grabbed three bags of different chips on his way, along with a random assortment of foods that looked mildly healthy. Very mild. He put them on the registers counter. The kid had followed him and began to check him out.  
“Hey-- kicked puppy-- I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to insult you, it was a ‘laugh with you not at you’ kinda thing, yknow? Come onnnnnn don’t be like this. I didn’t mean it!”  
Peter paid for his stuff as deadpool continued to whine at him. Peter’s headache was very bad now. His headphone wires still dangled from his ears.  
“Come onnnnnn--” Deadpool was whining as Peter picked up his bag of goods. As Peter stepped away Deadpool had grabbed and held onto the loose wire, pulling Peter’s earbuds out. Everything seemed to stop for a moment when he realized what was happening, and Peter felt fear.  
He panicked. Before he could breakdown and make an embarrassing scene of himself he shoved deadpool out of his way and sprinted out of the store. He didn’t stop until he was at least three blocks away.   
He wasn’t tired from running, but he needed to ground himself. While he was fleeing Peter hadn’t actually paid attention to where he was going. Once Peter had finally reached his apartment he threw his groceries on the couch, and went to his room. He lifted his mattress off the ground and quickly folded himself to crawl under. The pressure from it was extremely helpful but his headache and racing heart didn’t go away for what seemed like hours. Eventually Peter remembered he left his only pair of headphones in deadpool’s fist.

 

Later in the day, once he was able to leave the space under his mattress, he quickly looked up all of the recent news updates. Deadpool was in none of it. That fact made him feel better, it meant that Deadpool hadn’t done anything news report worthy. If he had, it would of been Peter’s fault. Looking back on his actions today, Peter felt like a failure.   
He should’ve been able to capture him both times, whether or not he had hidden weapons and treated metal swords. Peter needed to do better. Looking back, he should’ve left the store and came back as spidey to take Deadpool out.  
Peter was now in his living room, munching on chips and setting his lab up. He wanted to test the new sample from the girl in the N-dimethylformamide to see if it reacted the same as the other. It did, and Peter was upset by it because it meant there were more people out there using the same strand of messed up heroin. That girl from earlier probably shot up with this stuff.  
Peter decided to try a new method to test it’s reactivity. This was honestly one of the funnest parts of chemistry-- setting stuff on fire. Although that phrasing puts the test in a rudimentary light, Peter had weighed all of options on how to find out what’s important about the compound, and Peter had limited resources.  
But what he did have were the tools to do a regular cooking of heroin, to see if it even reacted like the supposed drug. It had to, since people were selling and using it. Peter swallowed his guilt of ruining one of the spoons he inherited from aunt may. It was for science, and science was worthy.  
With the lighter flickering under his spoon and cooking the sample, Peter had to strain his ears to see if he was hearing correctly. Which… he hasn’t had to do since he got his powers. He heard screams. He heard screaming from the sample. He was able to put the cooked sample back into its own petri dish, and concluded that there had to be some type of bacteria or micro-organism causing the drugs to react so strangely. The problem with this development was that Peter didn’t have access to any of his old bio-chemistry lab equipment. Peter definitely didn’t have any personal microscopes laying around his apartment.  
After a solid three minutes of internal debate, Peter sighed and finally conceded. He needed resources afterall, right? Peter picked up the burner phone Spidey normally uses, and typed out a text to Bruce. Peter paused before hitting send. Of course he knew Tony would find out, and consequently hound both Bruce and Spiderman for any and all information about Spiderman’s projects. Contacting Bruce means opening a floodgate of uncomfortable experiences. Typing out a text message was uncomfortable enough.  
Spider Man's relationship with the Avengers was… Not the best. Sure, they fought on the same side and they were polite to him enough. The team had even extended an offer for Spiderman to join the Avengers. When he refused said offer, Bruce had kindly given Spiderman his number to reach out whenever he needed help.   
But if you put those surface courtesies aside, you had a group of people that acted around Spiderman as if he was an alien. I mean yeah, he has superpowers, but the whole team has a variety of the same thing. No, they acted strangely around Spiderman because they didn’t like his odd behavior. He saw it in the looks he’d get for the tapping or the restlessness on stakeouts together. Or the way they responded to him when any of their metaphors didn’t click in his head. Whenever they would give off an instruction that wasn’t serious and later laugh about how it ‘wasn’t literal’. I mean honestly, what were you expecting when you told Spiderman to backflip into a crowd of enemies. That’s actual strategy in Spiderman’s book. Peter ended up deleting the text to Bruce.  
He could bide his time and collect more samples, doing the same tests to see if this was a common substance. Peter didn’t need to contact the Avengers yet.

Over the next week Spiderman spent his time stalking Rohan and collecting samples from his customers. Of course Spidey didn’t want Rohan or anyone else catching onto him, so Spidey randomly selected a person to get heroin from each day. Peter would say it went pretty smoothly, if he did say so himself.  
He was on top of his stuff now. Nobody at the Bugle has tried to corner him into unnecessary conversation, the perps he detained on regular patrol were easily taken down, the tests on the heroin were coming out consistent, and he hasn’t seen deadpool once on the news. Peter hasn’t seen or heard his boots since the earbuds incident. Although Peter felt the familiar guilt of not doing good enough, he was relieved that he hasn’t seen him. Part of him hoped Peter would live the rest of his life and not see him again.   
While Peter was riding the wave of newfound accomplishment he decided his investigation was more important than his pride and asked Bruce if they can meet. Texting the Hulk on a flip phone felt as weird as you can imagine it would. Spiderman didn’t get an immediate answer from him, and he wasn’t expecting to. The anxiety already started to build. He reread the texts even though they were already sent.

To: A#1 (10:13)  
Hi Bruce. I need to use some lab equipment.

To: A#1 (10:15)  
This is Spiderman.

Instead of sitting around biting his nails, Peter suited up.

Rather than doing his regular patrol that night, he wanted to check up on Rohan again. Afterall, he was Peter’s only lead into whose distributing poisoned heroin in New York. He left his apartment with a run and a leap, and headed to the Bronx.

Peter arrived on the building he normally used to stakeout Rohan’s apartment, and made himself comfy. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was looking for, just like last time he was here, but if any of Rohan’s ‘friends’ showed up again Peter was now prepared.

An hour later, after Spiderman had made two large decorative spider webs and a hammock to lay in, there was finally suspicious activity. Peter quickly scrambled to the edge of the roof trying to get a look of the faces of a group of well dressed men entering Rohan’s building.  
Peter was right about the group being trouble. It only took a minute for them to come back out of the building with a knocked out Rohan being carried between two of them. The others climbed inside and turned on the car.  
Peter followed the black SUV throughout the Bronx all the way to a rundown warehouse on the outskirts of a large port. Peter almost felt embarrassed for them, of course it had to be a shipping yard.  
He jumped to land on the side of the warehouse, peering upside down into one of the many dirty windows.  
The group of men had put a bag over rohan’s head now, and his arms were bound behind him as he laid on the ground. Rohan’s friends didn’t seem to be very fond of him.  
Spiderman didn’t have to open the window to hear them. Peter winced at the noise Rohan made when one guy took a hard kick to his stomach, it really must’ve hurt.  
“I wish I didn’t have to do this, but you didn’t give me any other choice Rohan. It’s not like I enjoy getting Chidi involved. You didn’t even try to cover your filthy tracks. Did you really think we wouldn’t notice that amount of money? Even after I warned you,” He landed another sharp kick into Rohan’s ribs, “That we’d take you out next time? I mean fuck,” The guy landed another blow to Rohan’s torso and he wheezed through the bag in reply. Peter realized now that this was the same guy that was in Rohan’s apartment last time. Hey, it’s not his fault it took him a minute to notice. He’s bad with faces.  
Spiderman wanted to jump in now, and get all these men webbed up and into police custody, but waiting and watching was the only way to gather more information. Peter stiffled his restlessness by sticking and unsticking a couple of his finger pads at a time.  
A loud noise sounded throughout the warehouse as more people walked in, and Rohan’s reappearing friend went to greet the ‘lead’ newcomer with a handshake. The newcomer replied to his advances by raising a gun to level at him. The lackeys behind the newcomer stiffened but did not raise their own weapons.   
“You better have a good reason for calling me here Vasquez.” The newcomer said while cocking his gun. Peter noted it was a Sig Sauer P238, which had only seven rounds to it.  
“Chidi, hey, you know I don’t fuck around. It’s about Rohan, he’s been stealing from us man. I thought I’d tell you before we offed him since he’s been dealing with you.” Vasquez’s hands were now raised in a placating gesture, and Chidi tilted his head.  
“Learn to respect your higher ups, boy.”  
“Sorry Mr. Shapiro. He’s over there,” Vasquez turned and gestured behind him to Rohan.  
Rohan started to beg as one of Chidi’s lackeys opened a briefcase to him, and Chidi started putting together a syringe. Peter already knew what was in it.  
Despite his urge to break the window and save Rohan, he needed to know what was going on. It was obvious Rohan knew that there was something wrong with the heroin, more than it being a highly addictive opiate. Rohan was scream-crying now. Scrying.  
The needle took a deep plunge into Rohan’s neck, and he sobbed. Spiderman could still hear him whispering ‘I’m sorry’.  
“Activate it.” Chidi said while taking his gloves off. The men let Rohan go, and he spent his last few seconds of autonomy with tears streaming down his cheeks. When he stiffened, Spiderman could see his veins start to change to a darker hue.  
“Stand.” Rohan got to his feet and Chidi let out sigh. Peter guessed it must’ve been a good-sigh and meant he was happy since Chidi was smiling. Spiderman couldn’t take it any longer, and crashed through the window. Quickly swinging himself on instinct, Spiderman was out of sight again.  
“Wow you guys are pretty villainous, huh?” Peter quipped when he crouched on a high beam within the warehouse, a bit dismayed he chose to give away his hiding.  
“Shoot him!” Chidi yelled as he aimed his own gun. Spiderman just followed his spidey-senses to dodge every bullet, and began to web up the bad guys. Chidi was one of the first but that didn’t stop him from talking.  
“I wouldn’t keep doing that!”  
“Hmmm? Why?” Spiderman humored the guy as he swung again to the raptors.  
“Because this lousy prick isn’t the only zombie we’ve got here. All these containers? Guess what’s in ‘em!”  
Spiderman paused his web slinging now, landing on a beam, terrified of what Chidi was saying.  
“You saw what the serum does to ol’ Rohan here right? The way we can control him?”  
“No offence but I’m preettyyy sure I can handle some brain washed civilians.” Spiderman quipped back casually leaning on a beam despite the threat Chidi had on him.  
“See Dave there? Dave wave at Spiderboy.”  
“Spiderman.” Peter corrected while seeing a lackey he hadn’t webbed yet wave at him.  
“Dave has a remote. He can get every one of these here hostages to strangle themselves. But he won’t do that, right Dave?” Dave shrugged at Chidi.  
“What does that mean?” Spiderman gestured wildly at Dave. Spiderman was very stressed at the moment.  
“He won’t kill them if you surrender, and untie--unweb? Release all my men.” Peter cocked his head for a moment while he thought.   
“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”  
“Do you really wanna bargain that many lives? If you don’t get on the ground this second I’ll fucking call the order.”  
Spiderman used his arms to fling himself at the cement, landing harshly in a crouch. He didn’t even think about it, not with that kind of a threat.  
“Good boy.” Chidi sneered at him. “Get this shit off me.” Peter stood slowly, trying to use this time to figure out a plan. He walked to Chidi and began to spray his webbing with the liquid he made exactly for this purpose. Well, not for untying scary gross criminals but more the general sticky web situation you can expect from carrying web shooters everywhere with you.  
The webs dissolved off Chidi and once standing he latched his gross hand around spiderman's throat, and Spiderman grasped his wrist in response. The feeling of his hand on Peter’s body was more suffocating than the actually pressure on his windpipe. Peter could’ve ducked away, or evaded in many other ways, but he didn’t think Chidi would be very fond of that. Peter was afraid of what he’d do if he got angry. Chidi squeezed Spiderman’s throat harder.  
“I’d get your hand off me, boy. Or else I’ll fucking kill every person you’re supposed to be saving.” Peter released Chidi’s arm, but the older man's grasp just got tighter. “Poor Spiderman,” He mocked, “He just needs to save everyone.” Chidi raised Peter a few inches off the ground, and his lungs felt ready to burst. Not to mention his mind was going crazy, every nerve in his body going haywire from the touch. After looking into Spiderman’s mask for a moment Chidi released him and Peter stood on his feet again, taking in a deep breathe. “I want you to give me the dissolving shit you used on me. Do you shoot that web shit out of your body?” Peter paused at this.  
“Pfff.” Peter didn’t understand the laugh, but he undid every wrist gadget Chidi could see. Then he grabbed Peter’s hands, and flipped his arms over, looking for more. He even rolled Peter’s sleeves up. The man paused at the small indents within Spiderman’s wrist.   
“Shit. You do shoot it out?” He seemed awed.  
“It’s not-- It’s not the same. As the shooters. Web Shooters.”  
“Show me.”  
“I can’t it’s, it’s based on my metabolism. I haven’t eaten anything so I can’t,”   
“Pity.” Chidi dug his thumb into the sensitive area and Spiderman cringed. Even though it hurt, he was afraid to do anything to stop him. Chidi let go of his wrists. By now the still standing lackey’s gathered around the two of them. Peter’s spider sense was going crazy, he couldn’t decipher each ping from one another. Chidi held the gadgets out to one of the men.  
“Get everyone free. You,” He pointed to another. “Get a vial for our Spider friend.” Peter’s sixth sense felt someone come up behind him, and he had to restrain himself from leaping away. They pushed him to his knees and he could’ve easily resisted, but he didn’t want to risk any lives. Someone handcuffed his arms behind him. Another hand lifted part of his mask, and he felt the sharp stinging of metal imbed itself into his neck. He hissed as he felt the needle roughly pulled out.   
“We’ve never tried this on a super human before.” He didn’t have time to feel the fear from that statement before his limbs grew heavy, and he slumped to his knees.  
Peter had never felt anything like this. He groaned, and held his head in his lap. Kneeled on the ground, he barely registered when someone kicked him over. It took him a solid second to realize he was now sprawled on the pavement, and there were blows hitting him on all sides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh snap I'm back  
> Sorry for the long wait
> 
> Wade was kind of a dick but to be fair Peter really did just look like a weird super high kid and we all know if dead pool was aware of the situation he wouldn't of acted like that.  
> He's not that big of an asshole.
> 
> I rewatched captain america right before i posted this. Damn I wanna bring steve into this.
> 
> This chapter is the least edited because I got tired so let me know of any mistakes and stuff


	4. Military grade

Deadpool started to pound his foot against the dumpster’s wall’s he was currently laying in, trying to spook the two hissing alley cats away. It worked, but also woke a few rats.   
He might’ve felt sick about some of the trash he was currently wallowing in, but he didn’t care enough to move. Most of his safe houses were pretty much the same as a dumpster so he felt right at home. Just laying here in his misery was a good way not to rile the boxes, they were pretty content with how screwed Wade’s life was right now. But footsteps coming into the alley made Deadpool still, he wasn’t in the mood to gut someone else tonight.  
“Hey, sack of shit!” Actually, he might be in the mood. “Wade. I said hey!” Weasel was outside his dumpster now. “Are you going to come inside or what? Some of the girls were saying you’ve been out here a while, scarin’ their customers off.”  
“S’not my fault their customers try to do it in an alley…”  
“Yeah well, get up.” Weasel lazily kicked the dumpster.  
“No.”  
“Yes. You should be out there finishing the job I gave you like-- two weeks ago. What’s taking so long?” He was still kicking the dumpster.  
“Jesus Fuck! Will you mind your own goddamn business and stop fucking kicking me!” Wade sat up to throw a larger piece of garbage at him. Weasel let out a yell as it hit his head.  
“You’re such an asshole. I don’t know why I’m friends with you. Get up soon or I’ll send some guys to motivate you.” Weasel hunched his shoulders and rubbed his temple as he left to go back into Hellhouse.  
Wade spent one more minute in silence before White made his appearance.  
[I hate weasel, but he’s right. You’re a sack of shit.]  
“Just shut up.”  
[You know I’m right.]  
Another minute passed before Yellow chimed in.  
{We should find Spidey.}  
[You’re dumber than Wade]  
{You want to see him too! We can make him change his mind about us! Tell him about the job!}  
[I don’t think a hero like Spiderman will overlook us if we tell him we’re a mercenary. He already hates our guts for just existing. I also don’t feel jazzed about scouring New York right now.]  
“Just shut up.” Wade covered his eyes with his arm.  
{Well we should do SOMETHING! I’m tired of this dumpster!! It stinks! It stinks as much as White does!}

Due to the boxes pestering, Wade found himself slumping through the bar’s entrance. A few guys glared at him on the way, but Deadpool just didn’t give a fuck right now. He sat at the bar and thumped his head down, ignoring the loud pool games and assholes trying to start a fight inside. Weasel leaned on the bar in front of him.  
“You smell like shit.”  
“Actually, I smell like a dumpster.” He mumbled into the wood. Weasel clunked three shot glasses in front of him and started to fill them up. “I’m gonna need more than that.”  
“Yeah well you can have ‘more than that’” Weasel mocked, “When you finish your fucking job. Your tab is already too damn long.” Wade knocked all three back and stared at Weasel, who threw up his hands. “It’s comin’ out of your cut!” He said as he grabbed a bottle of cheap vodka and just set it in front of Wade. Wade began to chug it.“So what has you all dumpstery?”  
“You’d like to know.” Wade knocked the bottle back again.  
“I don’t-- I don’t know what that means.”  
“Hey Patch!” A guy on the other end of the bar called out to Weasel and he took off for a moment. He popped back in front of Wade once the guy was happy with his drinks. Heh. Pop goes the Weasel. Wade giggled.  
“Seriously, Wade. You’ve told me literally everything else about your crappy life, including stuff I really, really didn’t need to know.” Weasel groaned.  
“I met Spiderman. Like, twice. I think.”  
{You think?!? How could you forget him?!}  
“Brain damage.”  
“Spiderman? The celebrity slash urban-myth-gone-wrong? You’ve wanted to meet that guy for years, always going off about his body and how you’ll get him to sign your pecks, and then he’ll accidentally fall into your arms yadda yadda. You talked about him more than you talked about Captain America.” Weasel frowned. “What happened?”  
“I met him while I was interrogating some prick. He thinks I’m the bad guy now.” Wade clunked his head on the bar and mumbled “Tried to tie me up... and not in a sexy way.” The bottle was empty now and he really wanted to enjoy the few seconds of alcohol poisoning before his healing factor ruined it for him.   
“I mean, you kind of are a bad guy.” Wade let that sink in for a moment and grabbed the vodka bottle, chucking it at Weasel’s head. Weasel ducked to the floor as the wall of alcohol behind the bar shattered.  
“I hate you Wade. You can’t handle the truth! This is coming out of your cut!”  
He yelled as Wade stormed out.  
After walking for a bit, Wade found himself outside one of his most used safehouses. He didn’t want to go inside, there wasn’t anything there for him except a kind-of-okay mattress to sleep on. Going in would just make him feel claustrophobic right now. He leant against the brick wall of his building, and decided that if he stayed out here for much longer the location would be spoiled. Even if It was pretty deserted in this part of the city. But the boxes were still bickering, and he was pretty miserable.  
[It was a waste of time.]  
{You’re a waste of time!}  
[I think doing anything other than the job we were given is a waste of time. Hey Wade, let’s get it done. You’ll feel better when you have something to lose yourself in.]  
“Unless I get distracted.” Deadpool hit his head against the wall.  
{You always get distracted!}  
[Yeah well, we need money after Yellow spent our stash on billions of legos. And then you spent the rest on crappy pain meds. I was much happier when we were millionaires.]  
{Hey! Those were worth it!}  
[You don’t have to get distracted. If you focus hard enough you’ll be fine. Besides, these guys deserve to be sliced up, they ruined Spidey for us. Let’s get started. They might have already gotten the shipment of military grade weapons, it’ll be so much harder to beat them if they did.]  
“Just shut up for a minute White. I’m trying to pump myself up.” Because Deadpool was going to finish this job either way, and he didn’t need White to haggle him over it. If he hadn’t run into Spidey like that everything would be different. Fuck, he hadn’t seen the hero whenever he was in New York for domestic reasons, so why when he took a job at home for the first time in for-fucking-ever he runs into the spider. Wade hits his head against the wall harder. His target’s are the reason Spiderman hates Deadpool, and they’ll pay with lives for that.

 

Deadpool was going to kill himself. He was going to scream and cry into the night air, and probably wake up all the local pigeons. Maybe even rip out his nonexistent hair. He almost broke his binoculars in half and stabbed himself with the pieces. Almost. He definitely had the urge.  
As you can tell, he’s very upset. Why is Wade Winston Wilson so upset you ask? Well, he just witnessed his idol get willingly drugged, and immediately drop to the ground. The idol that recently insulted him and tried to capture him. The idol that deadpool was gonna massacre fifty men over. The guy that caused Wade’s grievance for days. He was dropped onto a cold concrete floor, like a puppet with cut strings. The binoculars were indeed broken now.   
{SPIDERMAN’S DEAD AND WE'RE GONNA DIE TOO IF WE DON'T GET DOWN THERE AND KILL EVERY LAST ONE OF THOSE BASTARDS}  
[I’m very upset too, but we don’t know if he’s actually dead]  
{HE’S DEFINITELY DEAD OH MY GOD HE’S DEAD}  
Wade was already climbing down the fire escape of the building he was perched on. When he arrived he honestly thought he was too late to kill anyone tonight, because he definitely wasn’t gonna kill in front of Spidey. Nuh uh. No way, not after getting on his bad side for just interrogation. So he sat and watched.   
[You never do anything right]  
{IT’S LIKE WE KILLED SPIDEY OURSELVES}  
Deadpool held one of his desert eagle’s in a tight grip and prepared to knock the warehouse door down.  
[Think about this Wade! They’ll use him as a hostage!]  
{THEN HE’LL DEFINITELY BE DEAD}  
[We need to get to him first. We can shoot on our way out.]  
Deadpool nodded and climbed the wall to get to the window Spiderman already punched out. Did Wade make his fingernails bleed on the climb? Probably, but he didn’t care.  
He felt way more upset when he saw the jagged pieces of glass still hanging on the window sill, and could only imagine the deep cuts spidey had. Did he have a healing factor? He’s been known to the public for years now… How did an idiot like this stay alive for so long?  
Deadpool silently climbed in and made his way down and into the back of the warehouse. He was looking for the telltale meters that could make or break this rescue mission. Wade was splitting his attention between the search and what the target was up to. Since he was hidden behind massive crates he could only hear what was happening, and apparently they were beating on an unconscious Spiderman for fun.  
Oh, his blood was boiling. How was Spiderman so reckless?  
Wade found the electrical service panel and swiftly used one of his blades to cut all the wires, he ignored the pain of electricity shooting up his arm and making it spasm. The lights in the warehouse shut off immediately, and Wade could hear the men proclaiming their confusion.  
“Turn the fuckin lights back on!” One yelled. Deadpool didn’t want them to have time to turn the emergency backups on, so he made a mad dash back to the front of the warehouse. He began to shoot the thugs standing over the hero, and Spidey jerked to attention. He webbed Wade’s gun out of his hand.  
“What the-- Are you insane?!” Wade pulled his other gun out of his holster as bullets rained into his torso. Wade took the other men down regardless of the stinging hits. “I’m trying to help you, you idiot!” Spiderman had slumped forward again from a kick to the back and Wade shot the guy between the eyes.  
The rest of the men began to flee, quickly realizing that their odds of forty to one was still not in their favor. Wade had already seen his target flee the moment Wade opened fire, {WHAT THE HELL WADE?!} so he wasn’t too concerned about hitting his mark right now.  
He listened and waited to hear the telltale footsteps of some idiot lurking behind, wanting to get the drop on him. When minutes rolled by and nothing came, Deadpool relaxed and rolled his shoulders. The warehouse was empty except for the corpses littering the ground. He turned his attention to the Spider on the floor.  
[It’d be good to focus on getting Spiderman to safety. He looks like he’s out cold.]

Spiderman was not out cold.  
Peter had heard Deadpool’s guns firing and panicked. He honestly thought that the guy had seized his chance to take down Spiderman, hit him while he’s weak. But he realized he wasn’t feeling any bullet hits. Ah jeez, his senses were so haywire, what did he feel? Peter felt the cold concrete ground pressing against his cheek, and he laid his hands out next to his head. The cold felt good, even though he’s usually freezing. His head felt fuzzy, and he was more relaxed than he’d been in years. Was this the effects of heroin, or brainwashing? Were his actions really his?  
Peter realized the firing had stopped now, and someone was trying to lift him. Spiderman reacted like any spider would and lashed out, crawling backwards fast. His Spider-sense was going nuts, even though there could only be one logical threat here. The corpses around Peter were drowning in their blood and the man standing in front of him was dressed in the same dead red. Could Deadpool’s name be because of the pools of blood from his dead victims? Peter actually giggled at that.

Deadpool tried to pick Spiderman up like you would a cat. The guy was laying face down on the floor so he just sorta tried to scoop him up by the belly, swinging limbs be damned. With a hard hit to the head Deadpool realized that Spiderman was not, in fact, passed out.   
“Fuck!” The Spider was now sitting back on his heels a good seven feet from Deadpool.  
“You’re real unappreciative you know? I didn’t have to rescue you from those dick bags.” Spiderman didn’t seem to be listening, and instead was looking around at the mess of bodies. He looked back at Deadpool and giggled.  
[What the...]  
{Spidermans crazy! Does he like blood? Is his whole ‘no killing’ thing actually a territorial mark on New York?!}  
“Wow, maybe you are crazier than me.” Deadpool snorted, and Spiderman shot a web to cover his mouth.  
[Idiot.]  
Spiderman tried to crawl to the wall but instead slumped to the ground once more, one arm still outreached in front of him.

Peter wanted to get away. He hated Deadpool, but he wasn’t in the right mind to fight anyone. It almost felt like he wasn’t in his mind at all. It’d be easy to let sleep take him, and just disappear for a while. So that’s what Spiderman did.

 

Wade ran like a bat from hell with Spiderman thrown over his shoulder. Back at the warehouse, when Wade had just managed to get Spidey off the ground, a group of the original guys had come back, trying to defend the cargo of weapons. Wade didn’t give a shit about their stuff.  
[WHAT?!? WE CARE A LOT]  
He just needed to get Spiderman out of there.  
Wade’s lungs began to burn once he was far away. He was so caught up in his own head he forgot to keep track of where exactly he was going. A few quick glances around told him his body had taken the route he had planned before busting in. Spiderman was still hanging over his shoulder, and he slowed to a jog after a couple more streets but the movement still had Spidey’s head thwumping against Wade’s shoulder blade, so he slowed further to a walk. If he was gonna hole up spiderman somewhere to heal, it needed to be one of the safer safe-houses. Wade needed a car to get to where he wanted to go.

The hero only began to stir when Wade was at least three miles into what he would call a Safety Zone for him. Y’know, a part of town that seemed eerily still and damp, even in the middle of summer? The ones with the regular night owls and dealers up ‘n’ about, with an occasional car alarm keeping you on your toes?  
Well, he didn’t say it was a civilians safety zone. Anywhere that seemed like a good area to hole up in and hide was safe for a guy that could heal (and kill) anything.  
Spiderman lifted his head with a confused grunt when Wade turned the corner.  
“I have literally no fucking clue what they shot you up with,” Wade said, “But you’re not dead so hey, that’s a win.”  
There was another questioning grunt and Spiderman tried to lift himself off Wade’s shoulders, “Wha- Hey, I don’t think you should be-”  
Spiderman lifted himself into a handstand off deadpool, and landed in a crouched position, facing the opposite way of the path Wade had chosen. He then fell over on his butt.  
“HA holy shit,” Wade was gasping for breathe at Spidey’s confusion, “Can Spiders get dizzy? Oh my god that was hilarious.”  
Spidey tried to stand and ended up on wobbly legs, steadying himself with waving arms.  
“W’ happ’n?” He stumbled backwards to thump against a parked car. When he started to slide down the side, he tried to reach out and steady himself, but his hand molded the metal car door.   
“Oh shit,” he faced the car and tried to smooth out the hand indents but he only made it worse. The car looked like clay. “Fuck.”  
Wade snorted “Wow, who knew Spidey swore. Also I’m sure they won’t care that much, we need to keep moving. Loopy spider is a drugged spider and a drugged spider,” Wade paused with his finger in the air.  
{IS A FUN SPIDER!!}  
Wade snapped his mouth shut and shook his head. “We just need to get you outta here, alright?” Deadpool reached out to pick Spidey up again, but Spiderman responded by flinching away into the the side of the car. The metal molded around his body. Even with his mask on you could tell he was mortified, and he quickly stepped away from the car and beside deadpool, going to his hand on a streetlamp to steady himself.  
“Look, Spides, Spiderman, Spiderlily, you’re not good to walk on your own. I know we uh, we haven’t exactly gotten off on the right foot,” Spiderman glared at Deadpool, “But you need my help right now.”  
The streetlight creaked under Spiderman’s grip, and he took his hand away in surprise. His handprint was left there too. Wade snorted again “And don’t worry about crushing me, I heal a lot better than steel.” Huh, did Spiderman ever stop glaring? Maybe that’s just his mask.   
[He’s glaring, you idiot. He hates you, remember?]  
{WHY WON'T YOU LET US HELP YOU, YOU BEAUTIFUL IDIOT?!}  
“Look” He snapped. “We can do this the hard way or the easy way.” Spiderman’s mask eyes seemed to grow in size and he tries to thwip a web and nothing is produced. He looks back at Deadpool with narrowed eyes as if it’s his fault.  
[What the fuck? His eyes… They’re actually moving…]  
{how he do that?}  
Wade shrugged at all three of them.   
“Welp, time to go.” Wade moved forward to pick Spidey up again, but he tripped over himself trying to flee backwards. “JEEZ man, look, it’s not like I want to carry you--”   
[That is the biggest lie you’ve ever told]  
{Don’t insult my lover.}  
[He’s like a skeleton too. It’d be so easy to just pick him up and run…]  
{YEAH WADE, WE COULD EASILY JUST KIDNAP HIM RIGHT NOW}  
“But you can’t even walk right now. So I mean, okay, prove that you can walk a fucking semi-straight line, and I won’t carry you.”  
[I wish I could kill myself so I wouldn’t have to watch you mess up our lives.]  
Spiderman wobbled to his feet and rested his hands on his knees. He straightened up with a deep breath. A moment later he was doubling over and grasping his knees again, looking like he was dry heaving.   
“See? Alright, here we go--” Wade moved forward to pick him up but Spidey shot out a hand to stop Deadpool. He straightened up once more and this time only rested his hands on his sides. He began to take a step forward, and yes he successfully managed to transition his weight to the forward foot, but then he crumpled on top of it, bracing his arms around his bent leg, the other still sticking out behind him. It was like the saddest lunge ever attempted.  
{THAT WAS SO CUTE}  
[That’s not cute. Whatever they drugged him with is doing damage to him. This is proof.]  
{MAKE HIM DO IT AGAIN}  
Wade’s mouth was set in a grim line as he scooped the spider into his arms. His mask’s eyes were shut now. Yellow squealed.  
[We must’ve been too busy fighting him to notice his mask’s movement before.]  
Spidey covered his head with his hands and seemed to grip tight as Wade moved forward.  
[I wonder if he could crush his own skull…]  
{HE HATES US SO MUCH HE’S GONNA KILL HIMSELF!}  
“I’d hate to get Spider blood on my suit.”   
“Blood?” Spiderman jerked in Wade’s arms and looked at him with wide white lenses. “Y’know. Because you’re gonna break your skull at that rate?” Spiderman held his head again.  
[He thought we were gonna hurt him.]  
{My poor baby! We should kill anyone that would hurt this adorable spider!}  
[The thugs probably hurt him a lot while he was out.]  
“I know.” Wade grit out. Spiderman jerked again.  
{We should’ve killed their boss for Spidey!}  
[Not to mention that was our fucking target. Spiderman’s going to think you’re a coward. Only stepping in when you could hide. You could’ve prevented him from passing out. Some hero you are to him, hm?]  
Deadpool restrained himself from snapping out loud at white. He didn’t want to spook Spidey anymore than he already has. Besides, White was right. Wade wasn’t even able to do his job tonight, let alone save New York’s idolized hero.  
{He’s out again!!} Yellow squealed in delight.  
[God, the guy could puke on us and you’d be happy.}  
“I would not be very happy.”  
The boxes laughed at the prospect of Wade cleaning Spider-Puke, and talked the rest of the way to the safe-house.


End file.
